Page 338 of Well Played

“Can I make a suggestion? We need to work together–can we just call a truce? Despite our past and our feelings, and as much as I would love to clear the air about what happened between us, I know I’d be speaking to deaf ears. Maybe we can find a comfortable balance to get through this. Who knows, maybe we can be friends again.”

Maeve began chewing on her bottom lip with deliberation as she continued staring at him. The trundles in her brain were moving, making a mental list of pros and cons, straining to figuring out the best way to conquer something unpleasant. Lian could hear the loud ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any second, just before he let out the breath, he didn’t realize he was holding, as Maeve finally spoke.

“Tell me … do you really think that is a such a good idea? Are you looking for some form of forgiveness or redemption? Because right now, I need to wrap my head around this situation before I say or do something that will cost me my job.”

Stepping back slightly, Liam leaned back in towards her to reply.

“Please Maeve. Can we take a beat? I want to make things up to you, if you will let me. I know you’re hurt, and I am hurt too. The last six years have been a living hell for me, as I suspect it has been for you. Let’s just get through this situation for now, who knows – maybe it will help us find the closure we need. Truce?”

Liam thought he might be imagining it, but he saw a single tear slipping from the corner of Maeve’s right eye, as both eyes filled with unshed tears, trying to follow the single escapee. Gulping back a hiccup and shaking her head, she mumbled her answer, turning to continue her escape to her car.

“Whatever. Let’s plough on.”

3

Enteringon to the M1 North towards home, Maeve took a deep breath, hoping to stop the bouncing thoughts, giving her a huge tension headache. She knew no amount of Tylenol existed to ease the hammering between her eyes. The unexpected confrontation with Liam in the parking garage was the last thing she had expected, let alone planned for.

Frowning, she realized how everyone always told her there would be comfort in knowing that both young love trauma and a broken heart could heal over time–of course that was as long as you didn’t run into the person, allowing those unexpected memories and emotions to resurface when you saw the bastard. All the literary giants out there were wrong; time did not heal all wounds. You just continued to bleed, never really allowing the scar to fully heal.

Since the end of their relationship, Maeve had developed a certain amount of caution in committing her heart to any man who expressed taking things to the next level, offering that possibility of forever love. Her skittishness to commitment was just one of the huge gaping wounds in her heart where those potential unions end much sooner than later. She’d even adopted as her own personal mantra, Great White’s song ‘OnceBitten Twice Shy’ to remind herself of what happens when you commit too soon and too fast.

The ringing of Maeve’s cell phone broken into her musings as she crossed the border separated Ireland into the North and South halves. It wasn’t very hard to miss its existence as the simple sign announcing you were crossing an imaginary border that many Irish residents of the island didn’t acknowledge, even before the peace accords over twenty years ago. The national speed limit sign was painted to create the illusion of sniper bullets piercing it, resulting in bleeding holes. This, a testament, which was entertaining and brilliant in a way, representing how people felt about a divided Ireland, reinforcing Maeve’s unwavering patriotism and commitment.

“Hello, Maeve speaking.”

The voice greeting her on the line was her best mate, Oonagh. They’d been friends since primary school and through the thick and thin of each other’s lives. If there was anyone she could talk to about the ridiculous day and the situation she had walked into, it would be with Oonagh.

Maeve understood instinctively that now, after she had calmed down a bit, it wasn’t the time for her to rehash and dwell on what could have been or why things turned out the way they did. She needed a sounding board to figure out how to work with Liam in the most civil manner possible. Both the GAA and her colleagues at the Down Office wouldn’t have known her ancient history with the rising Down football star, now causing personal chaos on so many levels; but she was a professional and at this opportunity the world of Gaelic football and sports was offering would open numerous doors for her in the future; he would not ruin this for her too.

“Glad you’re calling. Are you home tonight, or do you have plans with Shane?”

“It’s the usual Friday and Saturday night ritual as the groupie girlfriend of a band God. Shane and the lads are playing a set at The Old Killowen Inn tonight. It’s the first night of the annual Fiddler’s Green Music Festival. You’re still coming, right?”

“Yes. So, looking forward to sitting back with a pint and just singing along to the usual ditties. It’s been a while since I’ve had a real old craic fest with you. Besides, I need advice.”

“Didn’t you have that meeting at the GAA this morning? How did it go? I take it the meeting wasn’t what you were expecting.”

Maeve released her breath slowly through pursed lips making a wobbling motorboat sound.

“Damn. That bad, eh?

“Well … sort of. I ran into my old football teammates from university, Aisling. She heads up their marketing and communications team. They have an event they want the Down GAA to run with them during the upcoming Wake the Giant Festival”

“And that’s bad how?”

“Well … it seems I’m tasked with providing the Down Council’s help to set up and coordinate a GAA event during the festival promoting the new Celtic Games being played and represented by our current Olympic Team hopefuls for the Summer of 2028.”

“Wow sounds brilliant! What aren’t you telling me? I don’t understand what the problem is. You deal with bureaucrats and ridiculous timelines all the time.”

Maeve didn’t respond.

“Maeve? Hello! You still there?”

“Yes. However, it is not the usual bureaucratic situation as you would think. I’m looking forward to working with Aisling and her team, but it’s the footballer they want me to work with that’s the problem. It’s a personal challenge that I’m not sure how to feel about it or how to work with it.”

“What–are they making you work with one of those usual prima-donna athletes who wants to make sure he’s getting all the headlines? Girl, you can handle anything and anyone. I don’t understand what your personal challenge is.”

Searching her brain for ideas of and the most adult and diplomatic way to tell Oonagh her predicament, she couldn’t think of anything. It was best to just pull off the latest band aide holding her fragile intelligence together. Best to just blurt it out.

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